Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(100)
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gwyneth did not always attend the village assemblies, partly because they were so crowded and finding enough space in which to dance was difficult, and partly because conversation was nearly impossible as everyone tried to talk above everyone else and the musicians tried to play loudly enough to be heard above the din. There really had seemed little point in attending.
Tonight, however, she was enjoying herself enormously. There was space in which to dance, and the high ceiling and the sheer size of the ballroom absorbed enough sound that conversation was possible without the speaker having to bellow or the listeners having to cup hands about their ears. Tonight she was enjoying the assembly because everyone else was too, and enjoyment was infectious. No one had complained several years ago when the Ravenswood ballroom was no longer available for the assemblies. Some claimed that the old assembly rooms were more cozy anyway, and others rejoiced because they had the assemblies back to themselves and really there was nothing to compare with Jim Berry’s ale and Mrs. Berry’s miniature sausage rolls and meat pasties.
Yet now, tonight, they had the best of both worlds—the spacious ballroom with all its architectural splendor and an entertainment they had organized for themselves and financed independently, without any interference from the earl. They also had Jim Berry’s ale and Mrs. Berry’s cooking, which seemed to have multiplied in both quantity and variety from her usual efforts.
More people than ever had come, drawn perhaps by the promise of more space, or perhaps by simple curiosity. By this time most of them had seen the Earl of Stratton since his return. A few had even spoken to him or been close enough to hear him speak to someone else. Almost all had been shocked by the changes in him. There was that nasty facial scar for one thing. But there was also a hardness, a darkness, a severity to him that had not been there before, though he had always been a serious young man. He had developed size and muscle since they saw him last too. He moved with a military firmness of stride and bearing. He was surely as different from his father as it was possible for a man to be—which, some whispered, was not a bad thing, though one could not help but like the poor late earl, who had always had a smile and a handshake and some jovial remark for everyone.
There was also something puzzling about the present earl, in the estimation of many villagers. For so far his behavior seemed somewhat at variance with his looks. He had opened the park on certain regular days of the week again for their leisure, for example. There was to be a Christmas ball again and a summer fete at Ravenswood. And there was this assembly, held in the ballroom again at his invitation, but not as a demonstration of the largesse of the lord of the manor. The earl had allowed them to do all the organizing themselves and all the financing too. Neither he nor his mother had interfered in the smallest of ways. There had even been a bet on about it at the tavern.
Gwyneth had heard all the talk and gossip during the week, for miraculously word of her betrothal had not leaked out and no one, therefore, felt it necessary to guard their tongue in her hearing. But tonight it would be announced officially, and tonight her happily-ever-after would begin. Not that there was really any such thing, of course. She was not ignorant enough to imagine there was. But sometimes surely one could be excused for dreaming that it was there just waiting to be grasped. No! That it was here and already in one’s grasp. There was such a thing as happiness, and it would be silly not to enjoy it when one felt it rather than shy away from it for fear it would not last.
She was happy, and had been happy ever since she had realized out at the summerhouse that Devlin would marry her. Maybe she was being foolish, but there was room in life for foolishness too. Wisdom was not always the best guide to living.
She danced the opening set of country dances with Sidney Johnson, the second with James Rutledge. Devlin danced with Ariel Wexford and Barbara Rutledge. His brothers and sisters danced too, Gwyneth was happy to see, though Stephanie danced only the first set—with Idris. She wondered when the first waltz would be and whether there would be only one. She wondered when the announcement of her betrothal would be made. She wondered when Devlin would dance with her, for surely he would. Most of all, though, she relaxed into the pleasure of the evening and enjoyed herself. For tonight she was happy.
The announcement was made after the second set. Colonel Wexford climbed to the orchestra dais and called for silence. It did not come immediately. Most people were quite content to assume he was announcing the next set and were more interested in continuing their conversations than in hearing what the next dance was to be. He raised his arms. There were a few halfhearted shushing noises. And then he used his parade-ground voice and silence fell instantly, followed by a few titters of amusement, for the colonel was known as a soft-spoken, mild-mannered gentleman.
“I am fortunate indeed to have been invited to be master of ceremonies for this of all assemblies,” he said. “I have a particularly happy and important announcement to make. It concerns the betrothal and imminent nuptials—before Christmas, actually, and right in our own village—of two young persons very well known to all of us here.”
He had a sense of the dramatic. He paused, just long enough for a buzz of anticipation to swell and fall away to an even denser silence than before.
“Our own Miss Gwyneth Rhys, daughter of Sir Idris and Lady Rhys, is to be the bride,” the colonel said, singling Gwyneth out among the crowd and nodding and smiling in her direction. “And an outstandingly lovely bride she will be too.”